


Deanna

by badbastion



Series: Denial [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, D/s, Exhibitionism, F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Orgasm Denial, Sam is 16, girl!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbastion/pseuds/badbastion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deanna changes up the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deanna

The next day is almost normal. Almost, except that Sam is even more aware of Dee, more aware of her nearness and her body. Almost uncomfortably aware, though there’s a part of him that’s not so uncomfortable with it; she’d shown it to him last night, let him see her, and now he feels almost possessive of her and her body.

And he aches. He doesn’t know how many times last night he got just to the brink of orgasm and then stopped himself. He can feel a dull ache in his balls, a tightness, that reminds him all day of what had happened the night before. It’s maddening. 

When John tells them that he’s going on a hunt, Sam feels a hot thrill go through him, though he’s careful to hide it. Whenever John leaves, there’s always a mixture of worry and relief, but this time, there’s the chance that Dee will let him do even more. 

Maybe even touch him. Maybe even let him come.

Once John’s gone, Dee gives him a cat-like smile, but says nothing. She’s been walking around in a worn-out t-shirt and a pair of Sam’s old cut-off jeans - and that does something to him that he has no words for, seeing his clothes on her body. The waist is too big, so they rest low on her hips, showing off a pale strip of belly when she moves.

They hear the Impala start up, hear it growl as John backs out of the driveway, and Dee pulls her shirt up casually to show him the curve of her belly and the undersides of her breasts.

That’s all she does at the moment, but it’s enough to get Sam hot and bothered, his cock swelling in his jeans, wanting to be touched. It makes his heart race, too; it isn’t a one-time thing. She’s going to keep it up.

Then they go about their day as usual, watching television and eating Chef Boyardee for dinner, with Dee teasing him in her usual way, just a big sister poking at her little brother, and that’s maddening in its own way. Until she wordlessly undoes her shorts and steps out of them, showing Sam her lacy black panties. He can see the neatly-trimmed triangle of her pubic hair, can see the outline of her labia through the satiny gusset.

He’s seen all of her underwear, has washed them at laundromats more times than he can count, and he knows she’s only got a few special pairs, and these are one of them. His mouth goes dry at the thought that she wore them for him.

“Dee,” he says breathlessly, and she grins at him and sits beside him on the couch and flicks the tv on as if nothing had happened.

Then, during a commercial, she leans over and whispers into his ear.

“Touch yourself,” she says. When he does, palming himself through his jeans, she says, “Nuh-uh. Take it out. I want to watch.”

He undoes his pants and pulls out his dick, full and fat and purplish-pink at the bulbous tip. He’s slick from precome, has been leaking ever since she showed him her panties, and he uses this to slick himself up, groaning at the feel of his hand on his cock.

And he’s already close. He can feel the heat of her shoulder against his, more touch than he’s had all night before, and all day. It’s ridiculous that just that light contact can rile him up, but it does, and he gets to the edge in less than a minute.

“Dee,” he whimpers, and he groans when she says, “That’s enough,” with a little smile. 

“Now you can put it away,” she says.

He obeys with a long sigh, struggling to zip his pants up over the big bulge his cock makes.

 

It’s only nine o’clock when she yawns and stretches, and says, “Bedtime for me.”

He watches her walk toward their bedroom, her ass swaying, and then she says, “You coming?” over her shoulder, and he’s up before she can get the words out.

 

It starts out just like the last time. Same instructions, same slow strip, though she’s barely got enough clothes to strip off. He’s on his bed jerking off while he watches her rub her hands over her body, rubbing her thighs and belly and toying with her breasts and pussy but not going very far, just light touches, just showing off for him.

He gets to the edge half a dozen times before she changes up the rules.

“Come here, little brother,” Dee says, and Sam crawls off the bed wordlessly, quickly, and walks to her side of the room with his heart hammering in his chest.

“Do you want to get a closer look?” she asks. He nods mutely, palming the base of his dick, and she says, “Kneel down.”

He kneels at the edge of her bed. She pulls her hand away to show herself to him and he sucks in a hard breath at being so close, at seeing her clearly, the pink and swells and folds of her. 

“Don’t stop touching yourself,” she says quietly. He takes himself back into his hand and resumes jerking off, slow and careful, aware of how close he is. How close he always is.

And she’s so close too, her pussy less than a foot away from his face, and she’s running one finger up the center of it before slipping it inside. It comes out shiny with her wetness, and he groans as she raises her finger to place it just under his nose, letting him smell her. He has to pull his hand away from his cock.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, and then she’s sliding two fingers into herself, pumping them in and out. “Keep going,” she says, and he obeys, and watches with awe, watches her pussy cling to her fingers on the way out, watches it close up so soft around them on the way in.

He gets to the edge again and has to stop, and when she runs her fingers through his hair with another low, “Good boy,” he leans into her touch, grateful for the praise.

Then he’s jacking himself again, long, slow wet strokes as he watches her, transfixed. It’s filthier than any skin mag he’s ever sneaked glances at, but it’s not dirty because it’s Dee, and she’s perfect, and he loves her.

She spreads herself open for him and he moans, watching the pink little hole inside her flutter open and closed, and she’s so wet in there, and he wants beyond anything else to slide his dick into her, to feel that tightness and wetness, but above all else to make her feel good. He’d do anything to make her feel good.

She slips her fingers inside herself once more, then holds them out, just touching Sam’s bottom lip.

“Do you want to taste me, Sammy?” she asks. In answer, he opens his mouth, and he groans as the flavor of her hits his tongue, musky and strong, and there’s no other word for it than pussy, he’s tasting his sister’s pussy, and oh Jesus, he’s close. He yanks his hand away and feels his cock bounce and twitch, and he thinks with horror that maybe he went too far and he’s going to come all over the side of her mattress, but after a few seconds, the sensation passes, leaving behind a tightness at the base of his cock and an ache in his balls.

“You liked that, don't you?” Dee asks, her voice teasing and playful.

All Sam can do is nod.

“You want to taste me again?”

“Yes,” Sam breathes.

Dee reaches out to run her fingers through his hair again, then she swipes her thumb over his wet bottom lip. He groans and tries to follow her thumb, wants to kiss it, but she pulls it away.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Dee says. “I’ll let you eat me out, but only as long as you can jerk off without coming. As soon as you stop, you stop.”

Sam goes hot all over, staring up at her, her face flushed pink and glowing in the lamplight.

“Deal?” she asks, crooked grin on her face.

“Deal,” Sam whispers.

Dee scoots forward on the bed so that her pussy is bare inches away from his face. “Go ahead,” she says.

He takes himself in hand and leans forward, mouth watering before he even pushes his tongue out to lick her. Her outer lips are warm and plump, with soft stubble from her shave the day before that tickles his tongue. If he had all night, he’d explore the texture of them, open his mouth over them and suck and lick before he moved inward, but his balls are tight and he’s so turned on he has to close his eyes, they’re so blurry, and he knows he’s running out of time. So he pushes forward, burying his nose in her small patch of pubic hair, and shoves his tongue inside her.

He moans and feels her twitch around him, all muscular and hot, and she tastes incredible, deep and musky and her insides are slick and softer than wet satin. He licks, licks, slowly jacking his cock, and then he takes one of her inner lips into his mouth and sucks.

“That’s it, baby boy,” Dee says, slightly breathless above him.

He groans against her, into her, and he takes one more long lick inside her before moving up to lap at her swollen clit.

“Oh,” she says softly, so he licks again, lapping at it, faster, and her thighs clench on either side of his face. He feels like he’s about to explode, but he slows his hand and keeps going, wanting desperately to make her feel good, hoping against hope that he can make her come before he has to stop.

He sucks at the protruding hood of her clit, and when she moans louder, he sucks it into his mouth, sucks and pulls, and every sound she makes winds him up tighter. No matter how slow his hand moves, he’s going to get to the edge soon, and god, he wants to hear more of those sounds, wants to taste her more.

He licks up the center of her once more, finding her even wetter than before, her juices flowing on his tongue. He swallows, moaning, then takes her clit into his mouth again and sucks, and her hand is clutching the back of his neck, and “Oh, Sammy,” she moans, and he has to pull his hand away, to pull his mouth away, trembling on the very precipice of orgasm.

Her fingertips brush the nape of his neck, and he has to say, “Dee, please stop touching me,” because even that light touch has him shuddering.

She takes her hand away and braces herself on the bed with it, shoving her other hand between her legs.

“You’re so good, Sammy, so good for me,” she whispers, rubbing her clit furiously, and he sees a wet spot on the sheet under her, watches her cunt twitch as she rubs herself, and then she’s coming with her mouth open in a long moan, her whole body shuddering, breasts shaking and pussy contracting rhythmically. 

It’s beautiful, it’s amazing to watch, and he can’t handle it.

“Can I come, please Dee, please let me come,” he whines, and her eyes open in glittering slits, and she says, “No.”

He squeezes his eyes closed, his breath coming out shaky.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she says, and he can hear the grin in her voice.

 

Two more days of this, two more days of wonderful, agonizing Deanna, walking around in a t-shirt and panties, acting normal except when she’s telling him what to do. She makes him jerk off several times a day, and he sneaks glances at her as he does, and sometimes he can see her getting wet through her panties. That’s always enough to make him stop, whimpering.

Two more nights of eating her out and he can never last long enough to make her orgasm, but he’s grown to love the taste of her, to crave it, and all day he wants to beg her to take her panties off and let him lick her out. But he doesn’t beg. He tries to be strong enough not to beg, and he doesn’t beg until the end of the night, when he whines for her to please let him come, please, and she tells him no. Maybe tomorrow, she says, and if he wasn’t so hard and desperate he’d be pleased that there would be a tomorrow to do this again.

He doesn’t touch her. On the second night he reaches a hand up to rub her thigh, and she gently brushes it away, saying, “Hands on yourself, Sammy.” It hurts his feelings, and it’s enough to make him go soft for a minute, so that he can keep sucking on her clit even longer, making her make sounds he’d never heard, so he’s not sorry.

Until afterwards, when he lies in bed hard as a rock and thinking about her, thinking about how much he wants touch, any kind of touch. 

He’s unexpectedly forlorn and lonely, even more than he’s horny, and knowing she’s in the bed just feet away across the little room from him makes his eyes go wet. He sniffles.

“Sammy?” she asks quietly. “You okay?”

He tries to keep his voice normal, and fails. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out in a waver.

There’s a pause, sheets rustling, and then she asks, “You sure? You don’t sound okay. What is it?”

He doesn’t know how to answer. Doesn’t know how to ask for more, doesn’t know if he’s even allowed to ask for more.

There’s a longer pause, during which he wipes away embarrassing tears.

“Do you need to sleep in my bed?” Dee asks, and he almost sobs.

Wordlessly he climbs out from under his blankets and slips under hers. He buries his face in her neck and when she wraps an arm around him, warm and comforting, he does sob.

“Shhh, it’s okay Sammy, it’s okay,” she says.

He gathers himself, turns his head to wipe his face on her pillow. She rubs his back. “Do we need to stop?” she asks.

“No,” he says immediately. “I just… needed… “ He still doesn’t know how to say what he needs. He needs this, Deanna touching him and comforting him, after being so intimate with him, and at the same time so distant.

“Okay,” she says quietly, rubbing circles over his back. He loops an arm tentatively around her waist, and holds her closer when she doesn’t stop him. “Okay. We can do this, too.”

They lay there for awhile, the closeness easing the ache inside of Sam. When Sam begins to drowse against the side of her neck, she whispers, “Roll over.”

He does, and she wraps her arm around his waist and holds him close, spooning up behind him like she had when he was little. It’s familiar and comfortable, and sleep comes easy.

 

Two more days of incredible, excruciating torture, and Sam’s lying in bed, waiting for the squeal of brakes of the junker John had left them with while he’s out on the hunt. Deanna had painted her nails again tonight, shaved her legs, and gone out to hustle them some grocery money. Sam bites his lip. And maybe do other things. Thinking about her taking some boy out into the parking lot and screwing him has him so keyed up and miserable that he couldn't get hard if he tried, no matter that he’s a sixteen-year-old boy and it’s been nearly a week since he last came.

At around one in the morning, Dee comes in, staggering drunk. Sam sits up in bed when she turns the light on, but then she says, “Lay down,” and he does, holding back all the questions he wants to ask. What she’d done, who she’d done it to, if she liked it. If this is over because someone else had gotten her off.

But then she’s shimmying drunkenly out of her jeans and panties and peeling her shirt over her head, and he feels a measure of relief. But he can’t hold back the questions any longer.

“Did you--”

“Shh. Be good,” she slurs. “Stay still.”

Then she’s turning the light off and crawling onto the bed, one knee by his shoulder, placing her hand on the wall to steady herself. She straddles his face and he can smell the arousal emanating from her, and saliva begins to pool under his tongue.

“Lick me,” she says.

He opens his mouth and presses his tongue out, lapping at her, and she’s baby-smooth again, freshly shaven, and he moans.

She moans too, and lowers herself, seating herself more firmly against his lips. He licks inside her, tasting her juices, his dick filling and fattening.

“A boy took me to his room,” she says, and his tongue slows. Dread pools in his stomach.

“Keep going,” she says, softer. “He wanted to fuck, but I just jerked him off and left. All I could think about was your mouth,” she says, her voice thick and rough, and she pushes down against his face before raising up to give him more room to work.

At this he groans, jealous and relieved and feeling somehow victorious, and he’s determined to make her feel so good she never wants anyone else again. He eats her out, hungry and sloppy, and he sucks hard on her clit when she grinds against his face.

“God Sammy, your fucking _mouth_ ,” she groans, and his dick is tenting out the blankets, staining the sheets with precome. He knows the rules by now. He reaches down and pushes the covers down, shoves his boxers under his balls, and begins jerking himself off, moaning into her pussy.

“Yeah, like that, god yeah,” she slurs. Her pussy pulses and tightens around his tongue, and he licks back up to her clit, tentatively wrapping one hand around her hip. When she doesn't stop him, he digs his fingers in to press her closer to his face. Sticky wetness smears over his chin, and he never wants to stop tasting her, touching her.

He reaches the edge all too soon, and he pulls his hand away from his dick, his mouth away from her pussy.

“No, keep going,” she pants, pushing down with her hips. “Don’t come, but don’t stop.”

Oh god, she’s going to let him make her come. He whines against her and buries his face in her pussy, his hand a mess with precome, his cheeks getting wet with spit and juices. 

“Oh, your fucking mouth, love your mouth,” she breathes.

He only has to stop jerking off one more time before she reaches down to grip his hair, riding his face as her thighs shake, moaning loud and long and shaky as she comes, more wetness filling his mouth and dripping down his chin. His cock jerks hard, pulsing in the cool air as he feels her climax ripple through her lower body. It’s everything he wanted.

He puts his hand back on his cock, jerking himself carefully as she comes down, sliding her dripping pussy over his mouth slowly, still shaking from orgasm.

Finally, she pulls away.

“You can stop,” she says, swinging a leg over his face, her knee grazing his nose. She moves down to straddle his belly, and the tip of his dick is so close to her crotch he swears he can feel her heat.

“Please,” he moans.

“No, be good, you’re so fucking good for me, Sammy,” she says. 

Then she shocks him by kissing him. 

Her lips are soft and wet and they taste like whiskey, and he gasps, arousal threading all through him when she swipes her tongue against his. Her hand goes into his hair again, gentle now, petting and stroking as she kisses him deep and long, and he wraps his arms around her, feeling her breasts press against his chest.

If he’d thought it was already everything he wanted, he was wrong. This is it, Deanna in his arms and kissing him, her warm body pressed against his. Deep, helpless love makes him shake and moan into her mouth.

She settles against him, mouth still moving on his, and he groans again when he feels her hot, wet center kiss his twitching stomach. The head of his dick skids against her soft inner thigh and he whimpers. He can't help but to thrust against her skin, feeling his dick slip up and inward along the wet inner curve of her thigh.

“Just this,” she says, reaching one hand back to still his hip and kissing him again, and he thinks he could die. Her mouth is amazing, the sheer fact that she is kissing him and letting him hold her so close is incredible after all these days of distance, and he kisses her desperately, running his hands up and down her back, loving the smoothness of her skin and the dip of her spine, loving the ridges of her scars.

Time slips by, Deanna in his arms, and he doesn't know how long they kiss but when she pulls her mouth away his lips and jaw are aching. She rests her forehead against his, eyes meeting his in the dark, and whispers, “Sammy.”

Her eyes hold his for a long moment, and he waits breathlessly for more, but then she rolls off of him and squeezes up against his side. She tugs up on the hem of his shorts, so he follows her silent instruction and pulls them up over his half-hard cock.

“‘m tired,” she says, voice thick with alcohol and exhaustion. “Roll over.”

He flips onto his side, facing the wall, and feels her naked body nestle against his back, feels her arm go around his waist. She trails her fingers up and down his sticky stomach, giving him full-body goosebumps, then she plants a kiss on the back of his head.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she murmurs against his skin, and seconds later she’s snoring softly, her breath feathering out against the nape of his neck. He’s awake for hours, just feeling her against him and when he finally feels himself drowsing, he thinks it’s a minor miracle he’ll get any sleep at all.

 

the end

**Author's Note:**

> There will probably be one more chapter to this, so don’t let Deanna frustrate you too much, haha.


End file.
